Just in Time
by ZoeyBridget
Summary: One summer afternoon in 1921, Mary and Matthew get the unique opportunity, from a very unusual source, to prevent a tragedy.


I was watching _Back to the Future_ the other night, and the inspiration came for this drabble. Don't expect it to make sense - it's just for fun. I don't own the characters of Mary, Matthew, and Anna, but as far as the others...I hope you enjoy them!

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The attic at Downton was always stifling in summer. Anna hated coming up here on general principal (she had always suspected they were haunted), but especially on a day like today. She wanted nothing more than to locate her mistress's old parasol as quickly as possible and take it downstairs to be cleaned while she enjoyed a nice cold glass of Mrs. Patmore's fresh lemonade. She had just found the parasol and, with a sigh of relief, was turning to leave when she suddenly heard:

"Do you suppose this old thing still works, Izzy?"

"Wouldn't it be a gas to hear the Rolling Stones coming from that?" High-pitched girlish laughter followed. "Or the Beatles! Wonder if there's even a signal up here."

Aware that nobody else was anywhere near the attic on this sweltering afternoon, Anna swung around in fright, dropping the parasol on the dusty floor. It sounded to her as if two faint female voices were carrying on a strange conversation, but where were they? Then the voices increased in volume and clarity:

"Is this knob the tuner? Or the volume?"

"No idea, Syb. Try 'em both. And I'll make sure it's plugged in. Maybe—

"H-hello?" Anna called anxiously, willing herself not to run. "W-who's there?"

"Hello?" responded one of the female voices, incredulously. "Is someone there?" asked the other, who sounded slightly older. "Hello? Is this some kind of weird radio show? C'mon…speak up! Who's there?"

"A-are you ghosts?" Anna asked softly, quaking.

"Ghosts? Gimme a break! Of course not," retorted one of them with a giggle. "Wow, this is freaky. Are YOU a ghost?"

"Uh, no." Anna, wondering what "freaky" meant, had determined by now that the voices, improbably, were issuing from the dusty horn of the Victrola in the corner. Cautiously moving closer, she ventured, "H-how did you get into Mr. Matthew's Victrola?"

"Victrola?" repeated the younger girl. "What's that?"

"It's—well, a machine…that plays music on disks that spin when you turn a crank," explained a dazed Anna.

"Oh…so it's some kind of old record player?" questioned the older girl.

"Hey, Izzy. I think I saw a picture of one once. With a dog."

"How is it that you can hear _me_?" asked a baffled Anna, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"There's an old radio up here in the attic," came the reply. "We found it under a sheet and were just playing around with the dials. I guess you heard us talking, and suddenly…there YOU were."

"Sorry, I don't know what a radio is," Anna admitted. "And you're in an attic?"

"Yeah, at Downton Abbey. Y'know…in Yorkshire?"

"Really? I'm in the attic at Downton Abbey, too." _And conversing with my employer's Victrola, _thought Anna wryly. Perhaps, she thought, this was a delusion brought on by the heat.

"That's odd. But, hey…if you're hearing us through an old crank-up record player, maybe you're, like…from the olden days or something? You know, like in H.G. Wells or Jules Verne?"

Anna considered this. "Well, I suppose it's…what year is it where you are?"

"1966. August 15th, 1966. You?"

Anna gasped. "It's August 15th here as well, but in 1921," Anna told them, trying – and failing - to imagine 1966.

"1921! Wow." The girls whispered something to each other. "Who are you?"

"I am Anna Bates, lady's maid to Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham."

"Lady Mary Crawley?…oh! She must mean Grandmama Mary," said one of the girls excitedly to the other. "Grandmama, as a young woman! Unreal!"

"No, it's quite real," Anna contradicted them. "Lady Mary is 29."

"Yeah, I suppose she would be, in 1921," mused the older girl.

"And may I ask…what are _your_ names?" Anna asked shyly.

The older of the two girls answered, "I'm Izzy – I mean, Isobel Cora Crawley, named after our two great-grandmothers, and my younger sister here is Sybil Violet Crawley. Our papa is George Crawley, Grandmama Mary's son. He's the Earl of Gr-"

"Lady Mary is having a son!" exclaimed Anna, thrilled. "Oh, how wonderful! She will be so pleased!"

"Oh?"

"I mean, she's expecting now. Her first child, due in about six weeks."

"Yes, that would be our papa! This is so fab! Isn't it, Izzy?"

"I didn't know she and Mr. Matthew were naming him George, though," Anna said thoughtfully. "I thought they were considering other names."

"Mr. Matthew? Is that-?" came Izzy's voice. "Wait…what's the date there again?"

"The 15th of August, 1921." Anna repeated. She heard the girls whispering back and forth, then footsteps retreating.

"I sent Syb downstairs for the family photo albums…and to get the Crawley almanac from the library…we need to check something. Tell me, is Grandmama Mary in the house right now? Would it be possible for us to speak with her?"

"Yes, I think she's downstairs in her bedroom – shall I go and get her?"

"In a moment...is Grandpapa Matthew around, too?"

Anna thought. "I believe he was getting ready to tour the estate with Mr. Branson, but perhaps I—"

"Can you fetch him, too, Anna? I think it might be important."

"I will, right away…wait there, please," said Anna, wondering as she hurried off how she was going to explain this to her mistress.

A few minutes later, Anna returned, accompanied by a mildly annoyed Matthew and a pregnant and weary Mary.

"Anna, what is this? It's awfully hot up here," sighed Mary.

Matthew pulled the dustsheet from an old sofa. "Here, darling – sit down. Shall I get you some water?" Mary shook her head, fanning herself. "Now, Anna, what—" They were interrupted by Izzy's voice.

"Hello? Grandmama Mary? Are you there?"

"Grandmama?" Mary, looked around, mystified. "Where—who—"

"Milady," said Anna, pointing, "I believe the sound is coming from the Victrola." Matthew walked over and examined it closely, blowing a little dust off it just as a slightly breathless Syb was heard to return. He took a step back, startled.

"Here they are, Izzy. Sorry, I had to do some digging…somebody moved the album to another shelf in the library."

"Thanks, Syb. Grandmama? I mean, Lady Mary Crawley? And Grandpapa Matthew?"

"Grandpapa?" repeated Matthew, bewildered.

"Yes, we are Mary and Matthew. Who are you? And how can—"

"Oh, Grandmama! This is so cool!" squealed Sybil on the other end.

"Actually it's quite warm," retorted Mary with a sigh. "But do continue."

"Well, strange as it may seem," Izzy explained, "apparently we're your granddaughters. Isobel and Sybil Crawley, coming to you from Downton Abbey in the summer of 1966."

"Good God!" exclaimed Matthew. "How is that possible? Are we to understand that you're communicating with us from almost a half-century in the future?"

"That's about the size of it," replied Syb. She giggled. "Far out, huh?"

"Um…yes. Very…um…far out. And you're—?"

"We're the daughters of your son George," Izzy calmly informed him.

"Our son George?" repeated Mary, stunned.

"Yes, your first child will be our father, George."

Mary gasped in delight. "Matthew, it's a boy! We're having a son."

"Hold on now," commanded Matthew, still skeptical. "How do we know you are who you say you are?"

"Well, who else would we be?" snapped Izzy, clearly beginning to think that Matthew was kind of a square. "Honestly! But okay...Syb, hand me that." Flipping pages were heard, and then Izzy continued, "Grandmama, your parents were Robert and Cora Crawley, the Earl and Countess of Grantham. Robert's mother was Violet Crawley and your mother, Grandpapa Matthew, was Isobel Crawley – I'm her namesake. Grandmama, your sisters were Edith and Sybil…Sybil died in childbirth…oh no, last year where you are, right? Awfully sorry about that. My sister Sybil here is named after her, and after her daughter Sybbie, who's like our aunt. And Grandpapa, you were born in Manchester and came to Downton with your mother in 1913, after-"

"All right, enough," said Matthew, his eyes glazing over. Dazed, he flopped down on the sofa next to Mary and reached for her hand. They gaped at each other and at the Victrola. "I still don't underst—"

"Here's the thing, Grandpapa…" interrupted Syb eagerly. "It says here that…should we tell them this, Izzy? I mean, it'll change some things-"

"You bet we should tell them!" Izzy said. She continued, all business, "Grandpapa, it says here that our papa George was born on the 21st of September, 1921, and—"

"September 21st? So he'll be coming a few weeks early," mused Mary. "Well, that's good to know. Perhaps I won't go to Scotland next month with the family after all."

"Well, Mary, if you're not going, neither am I," Matthew informed her.

"Just wait!" said Izzy. "Listen. So our papa, baby George, was born and everything was fine. You always told us—"

"Oh! So…we meet?" asked Mary, fascinated.

"Sure we do, Grandmama…but of course, not until you're quite a bit older."

"Oh, I see," said Mary with an eyeroll. "How silly of me! We meet in the future. Of course. Do go on."

"Do I meet you as well?" inquired Matthew.

"I'll get to that in a minute," said Izzy. She took a deep breath and continued. "Grandmama, here's the deal: you and Anna take the train back early from Scotland and go straight to the hospital because you're in labor. Grandpapa, you follow the next morning, and drive straight from the station to the hospital in your own car. By the time you get there, the baby has already been born."

"Oh," said Matthew, disappointed. "I miss it?"

"Matthew, believe me…you'll be glad you did!" Mary assured him, glancing at Anna.

"It's really not very nice," Anna concurred.

"But, Mary, it's our—"

"Hey, Grandpapa, chill out, okay?" interrupted Izzy. "I need to finish telling you this in case we get cut off or something. Grandmama, you and Grandpapa have a happy moment together with your son, and then you suggest that Grandpapa go back to the house to tell everyone. But, Grandpapa…" - here Izzy's voice wavered a bit - "…you never make it. A lorry comes around a corner, you swerve to keep from hitting it, your car goes flying into a ditch and flips over on top of you. And, well-"

Matthew stood up suddenly. Ashen, he demanded, "Are you saying that…I die? Right after the birth of my son, I…DIE?"

"Oh, Matthew!" Mary cried, gripping his arm. "No."

"I'm sorry," said Syb, emotionally. "It's such a bummer. You cried when you told us about it, Grandmama."

Izzy said crisply, "It's a shock, all right. I don't blame you for freaking out. But don't you see? Maybe now that you know, you can prevent it somehow?"

"Matthew, after the hell you went through in the war, and your injury, and everything _we_ went through to be together…you die in a _stupid car crash_?" Mary was unaccountably furious. "No! Absolutely not!"

"Mary—"

"No! I won't lose you. I can't. No. Not now…and not like that!" Mary pulled Matthew back down on the sofa and threw her arms around him.

Izzy sighed. "Grandmama, you told us it was the most horrible thing that ever happened to you. You said you never got over it."

"Even though you did marry again," added Syb helpfully.

"I marry again?" said Mary, lifting her head from Matthew's shoulder.

"Well, I should hope so," declared Matthew indignantly. "After a decent interval, of course."

"Whom do I marry?" Mary asked, intrigued.

"Wait - don't answer that!" cut in Matthew quickly. "Really, Mary! How can you even—"

"Well, you can't blame me for being curious!" Mary swatted his arm. She asked the girls, "Were there any more children?"

Syb cackled darkly. "Oh, were there ever! But, Grandmama, we can't stan-"

"Hopefully," interjected Izzy impatiently, "all of this will be moot. Because, Grandpapa…when you get to the hospital, you just…won't leave. You'll telephone the house instead. And you'll stay there till evening and then drive very carefully home."

"Yes…that could work. Absolutely," pondered Matthew, considering.

"That is most certainly what he'll do – I'll see to it!" Mary cried forcefully. Matthew and Mary looked at each other in wonder and burst out laughing in relief.

Matthew turned to the Victrola. "Girls," he said, "I still don't know if this is real or why it's happening, but if it IS real, and what you're saying is true…how can we ever repay you?"

"Just please survive, Grandpapa!" implored Izzy with a laugh.

"And give us lots of aunts and uncles," added Syb slyly. "NICE aunts and uncles who spoil us rotten." Everyone laughed.

"Wait!" said Mary, still unwilling to let go of Matthew, as if he were in danger at that very moment. "What if-what if this is some sort of delusion…or dream, where we forget everything that happened here?"

Anna grinned and said, "I'll write it all down right now, Milady. And make sure you have a copy with you at all times, Mr. Matthew."

"And one for me as well," Mary insisted. "And perhaps one for Molesley. And—"

"That's a great idea-hey, Izzy…look at that!" exclaimed Syb. Izzy was heard to gasp. "Wow…isn't that amazing?"

"What is it?" asked Mary. There was a pause. "What? Tell us!" demanded Matthew.

Izzy laughed softly. "Well, judging from the way the photo album looks _now_, I guess you took our advice. That's all I'm going to say."

"Well," said Matthew, with an explosive sigh and a grin, "I feel sorry for the poor chap you would have married after me."

"Why?"

"He'll be missing out, while you and I grow old together."

"Oh, darling…"

Anna discreetly turned her back on her master and mistress to give them a moment. "This is a miracle," she said, smiling. "Isn't it, Milady?"

"Yes, it most certainly is," agreed Mary. Beaming, she kissed her husband's cheek, and they exchanged a loving look. "Thank you, Isobel and Sybil. I can't tell you how grateful we are. And I'm looking forward to meeting you in person. Someday."

"As am I," echoed Matthew. "Now that I'll be around to," he added slyly.

"Now that's not to say that something _else_ bad might not happen," said Izzy. "What with World War II and all…"

"World War…TWO?" cried Matthew, horrified.

"Uh-oh..." Syb sighed heavily. "Grandpapa, I hope you're sitting down…"


End file.
